Watching from the Sidelines :Gale's Story -The Hunger Games
by LydiaXuning-fic
Summary: A rewrite of The Hunger Games, but from Gale's view. Dialogue taken from the book, while keeping an honest attempt to stay true to Gale's thoughts.
1. Chapter 1 -Reaping Morning

**Disclaimer :I do not own The Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Part One :The Tributes**

**Chapter One :Reaping Morning**

They inched closer, closing in on their only target, evil smiles spreading across their faces. Their expressions, each ranging from malice to bloodlust, filled me with fear and dread.

Then I got a glimpse of their victim's face. Pale, drained of colour, ghastly cuts across her face, and on one end, red liquid trickling down her forehead. Blood. It was only a short, quick glimpse - like the way cameras flash and leave - but I didn't need any longer to know who that horribly pursued girl is. Her hair set in her usual side braid, it's a face I'd recognize anywhere, anytime.

In an instance I was on my feet, running, stretching, reaching - only to be blocked by a thick, clearly see-through wall. And as I shoved futilely, they sauntered towards her, eyes glinting in anticipation. Knives raised, spears poised and armed with deadly weapons, my vision blurred as they charged forward.

With her remanding strength, Katniss raised her bow.

The last thing I saw was Katniss' face, horrified yet determined; before I heard a blow…

And fell. With a groan, I opened my eyes, and looked around. There was enough light to see where I was. Curled up on the other side of my battered mattress, was Rory, my twelve-year-old brother, and Vick, my other brother. On the other end of the room, lay my mother, and Posy. My little sister cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks pressed together. Beneath my ragged breathing, I faintly noticed the rise of their chests, in harmony with their light breathing.

I groaned again. Apparently I was the only one who had nightmares before the day of the reaping. Mentally cursing myself, I stood up, and slid into my hunting boots, and pulled on a shirt and trousers, before slipping outside.

Thanks to that nightmare, I was out earlier than usual, but not too early to have the Seam, our part of District 12, crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift. Men and women, with hunched backs, swollen knuckles, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the dark narrow streets were empty. The reaping wasn't until two. May as well sleep in, if you could.

I decided to head to the woods, to check out the snares that I set last night. All the way while I pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow, I couldn't seem to shake off the vivid image of a bruised, deeply injured Katniss out of my head. It was when my hand came into contact with wire loops that I realize I was standing in front of a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire loops that separated the Meadow from the woods. Or more precisely, enclosing all of District 12. Theoretically, it's supposed to be electrified 24 hours a day, to ward off packs of wild dogs, bears – the predators that once threatened our streets. But considering the fact that we're lucky to get only two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, and that in District 12_ luck_ wasn't something that meant what it actually is, it's usually safe to touch. Like now.

Getting down on my belly, I slid under a two-foot stretch that's been loose for years. As soon as I'm in the trees, I went to check out the snares I set up yesterday. Inside the woods, predatory animals roam freely, and there are added concerns like venomous snakes, rabid animals and no real paths to follow.

But behind the dangers, there's also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and taught me before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. I was fourteen then. Years later, I still blamed myself – even _hated_ myself for not being there to get him out alive.

Trespassing in the woods is illegal, and poaching carries the severest of penalties, but almost every time I just defy the law. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they're as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. The baker loves squirrels. And Mayor Undersee loves strawberries.

My family needed food, and food wasn't something that appear out of nowhere for my family. But another reason I did this – like Katniss said – I was a born rebel. Maybe I wouldn't be full of such fire if I didn't live here, but I do and I hated the Capitol, what they did and would do to us, the annual reapings and Hunger Games – and being in the woods, poaching and somewhat indirectly rebelling against the Capitol gave me some sort of satisfaction.

When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would burst out about the Capitol. Eventually I understood this would only bring us more trouble, but that didn't mean I was able to hold the surge of anger I felt towards the Capitol, unlike Katniss. She was able to hold her tongue, and to refrain herself from blurting out such tricky topics when she was around people. I was different, though. Very frequently I yell out my indignation in the woods.

Bending down, I checked the snares. I checked the first two. No luck. The third one caught a squirrel. I took it, and set off towards town. It was a few moments later when I stood in front of the bakery. I hesitated, making sure that it was the baker instead of his wife that was at the counter. If the baker had a fondness for squirrels, his wife would certainly bust a vein if she knew of our regular trades.

"Gale?"

I looked up. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the youngest son of the baker staring at me, the expression in his blue eyes one of hostility, and – jealousy? Huh. I didn't have the slightest idea what that meant, though it was the same look every time we met. Well, we never officially_ met_ before, it was more of like staring from afar.

"There's only a squirrel," I admitted, ignoring baker boy who I could feel was staring holes at my head.

"Never mind," the baker said, grabbing a loaf of bread, fresh from the oven, and handed it over to me. "Good luck. We all need it," he added.

Right. Today was the reaping. The day when two lives would be robbed from them, by Effie Trinket, District 12's escort perfectly manicured fingers. Luck was exactly the thing we needed right now. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I might be hard, but I never do understand why reaping day seemed to bring people closer – for a disturbingly short moment.

"Yeah. You too. And thanks for the bread," I replied. I could still sense baker boy's gaze as I walked out of the bakery.

I held the bread tightly as I walked back towards the woods. It wasn't everyday I could get real bakery bread, which was far different from the flat, dense loaves we made from our grain rations. An idea crossed my mind and I retrieved my bow and arrow, grinning.

I could feel my face muscles relaxing, my pace quickening as I climbed the hills to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley, with a thicket of berry bushes protecting it from unwanted eyes. Grinning, I stuck an arrow straight at the loaf of bread, puncturing it in the crust.

I sensed, rather than heard, Katniss' footsteps before I saw her. The sight of her walking towards me tugged the corner of my lips into a smile. Katniss said I never smile except in the woods, which is kind of funny; considering that she never smile except in the woods either.

"Hey, Catnip," I said. Her actual name is Katniss, but when she first told me, she had barely whispered it. So I thought she'd said Catnip. Then when a lynx started following her around the woods looking for handouts, it became my official nickname for her. She didn't object, so it stuck.

"Look what I shot, " I said, holding up the bread with the arrow stuck in it.

Katniss laughed, and took it in her hands. She removed the arrow, held the puncture in the crust to her nose, inhaling the fragrance. I knew what she was thinking. Fine bread wasn't everyday food.

"Mm, still warm," she said. "What did it cost you?"

"Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" she said, sarcastically. "Prim left us a cheese."

My expression brightened at the treat. It was a perfect little goat cheese, wrapped in basil leaves. "Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast."

In an alternative to distract myself from today's reaping, I fell into a Capitol accent, mimicking Effie Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who read out the names at the reaping. "I almost forgot! Happt Hunger Games!" I plucked a few blackberries from the bushes. "And may the odds—" I tossed a berry in a high arc towards her.

She caught it swiftly in her mouth and break the skin with her teeth. " –be _ever_ in your favor!" she finished with equal verve. The Capitol accent was so –_sickening_, almost anything sounded funny in it.

The joke gone, my previous lurking thoughts surfaced. I pulled out my knife, sliced the bread, spread the bread slices with the goat cheese, and placed a basil leaf on each while I watched Katniss plucked the berries off the bushes. Dark brown hair, grey eyes, olive skin; she could easily be my sister, but what I felt for her was definitely more than as a brother. I was sure of my feelings, since six months ago. I didn't say anything about it, though. I didn't want to pressure her. Or maybe I wanted her to realize her own feelings herself, just like I did.

We settled back in a nook in the rocks. Everything would be perfect if all the day meant roaming the mountains, hunting for tonight's dinner. But instead we had to be at the square at two, being haunted by my worst fears.

I didn't want Katniss to suffer in the arena. Well, I didn't want _anyone_ to suffer for the annual Hunger Games. But it was just the way things were. And I hated it.

If we couldn't change the way things were, surely we could change where we were? I knew Katniss and I would make it, living in the woods, free from the hold of the Capitol. We were both born to be in the woods. We could do it. The preposterous suggestion blurted out from my lips.

"We could do it, you know," I said quietly.

"What?" she asked.

"Leave the district, Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," I babbled on.

I risked a glance at her. She was staring at me like I had grown two heads.

"If we didn't have so many kids," I backpedaled quickly. They're not our kids, of course. But they might as well be. Rory. Vick. Posy. Prim. And both our mothers.

"I never want to have kids," she stated.

"I might. If I didn't live here," I admitted. That was true. I would want kids, well, with Katniss, if I didn't live in a place where food meant long hunts in the woods, or that you have to live with worry and dread that your kid would be pick for the Hunger Games.

"But you do," she said, clearly irritated.

"Forget it," I snapped back. I was annoyed, annoyed at myself for forgetting my devotion to my family. And I was annoyed as well that Katniss seemed to disregard my suggestion so quickly. But most of all, I was annoyed at the _Capitol_, because as I'd thought earlier, even if I wanted kids, District 12 wasn't a place to raise kids, at least not in my opinion. Look at the streets. Starvation wasn't an uncommon issue in District 12. And there's the added concern of the annual reapings.

Suddenly I was mad at the Capitol, truly _mad_, and from that instance my mood soured.

"What do you want to do?" she asked. I could tell she didn't mean my crazy idea of running away.

"Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight," I said.

Tonight. It's just bad enough that after the reaping, after knowing that two families would be grieving, everyone is supposed to _celebrate_. The Capitol would be celebrating as well –but not out of relief that their children had been spared for a year. The children of the Capitol _never_ had to be at a reaping.

We made out a good catch. A dozen fish, a bag of greens and a gallon of strawberries, much credit to Katniss. She was the one who found the patch years ago, I only placed mesh nets around it to keep out the animals. We swung by the Hob, the black market, and traded six of the fish for bread, the other two for salt. I gritted my teeth when Greasy Sae took half the greens in exchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin. I had to remind myself that we had to stay on good terms with her, since she's the only one who could be counted to but a wild dog.

Knowing that the mayor liked strawberries and could afford our price, we stopped by at the back door of his house. His daughter, whose name I remembered as Madge because she was the only one who would eat lunch, or partner up for sports with Katniss. Today she was dressed in an expensive white dress, and her blonde hair was done up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes that could keep the food supply of my family for days.

"Pretty dress," I said, smirking.

Madge shot me a look, pressed her lips and smiled. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

Her reply brought me short. She didn't really think she would actually get reaped, did she? She didn't have to take tesserae, unless she'd like to tell me that her father wasn't the mayor.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," I said coldly. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Genuine gold. Elegantly crafted. It could keep a family in bread for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old." I literally spat at her.

"That's not her fault," Katniss stepped in hastily.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," I snapped.

Madge's face became closed off. She gave Katniss money for the berries and wished her luck.

We walked towards the Seam in silence. I could tell that from the silence Katniss didn't like me taking a dig at Madge, but I wasn't going to back down and say it's wrong. The reaping system is unfair, with the poor getting the worse. When you turn twelve, your name is entered once. And so on and on until you're eighteen. But say you're starving and poor.

Having to feed a family of five single-handedly, there's now forty-two slips of paper with my name on. I signed for tessera since I was twelve, where each tessera is worth a meager year's supply of grain and oil. In exchange, my name went to the reaping pool six times when I was just twelve.

I knew my anger at Madge was misdirected. The tesserae were another tool to cause hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can put food on their table with ease. Another way to divide ourselves, and the Capitol knew it. I could feel my face smoldering underneath my stony expression.

Katniss and I left two fish, a couple of loaves of bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin and some money for each.

"See you in the square," she said.

"Wear something pretty," I said, hoping my tone didn't come out as flat. I failed anyway.

At home, I scrubbed off the dirt and sweat from the woods. I even brushed my hair and put on a shirt and a pair of trousers. My mother, brothers and sister are all ready. We sat down and ate the bread from the grain rations, as no one really had an appetite anyway. The greens, fish and fine bread would be for tonight, when we know that we're safe from the reaping.

Knowing that the next few hours would be hard for Rory, who's twelve and would be his first reaping, I hugged him and reassured him not to worry. His chances of being reaped are slim, as I didn't and wouldn't let him take any tesserae.

"What about you, Gale? Your forty-two slips," he said, sounding more matured than a twelve year old should. I winced a little. Is this what the Capitol robbed from a twelve year old? Their childhood innocence?

I shook my head slowly, but said nothing. Most likely my name would be called out, but I didn't want to think of that now.

At a quarter after one, we headed for the square. I carried Posy, who trilled over the camera crews and bright banners. I felt a surge of relief and sadness for her. Relief, because her innocence was still in her; sadness, because it would all be robbed from her in a mere few years later.

We filed in and silently signed in, resigned to the grim atmosphere. The Capitol kept tabs on the population through the reaping, which irritated me. Like they care.

After handing Posy to my mother, I walked off with Rory. He would be standing with other twelve-year-olds at the back. I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and walked to the front, exchanging tense nods with other eighteen-year-old boys. I looked around and saw Katniss, standing among the sixteen-year-olds, staring vacantly at the temporary stage, probably at the big glass balls. There's Katniss Everdeen written on twenty slips, and Gale Hawthorne on forty-two slips. I gritted my teeth.

When the clock struck two, the mayor began reading the history of Panem, the country that rose from the ashes of a place once called North America. Then came the Dark Days, the uprisings of the districts, where the thirteenth was obliterated. As a reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, the Hunger Games were formed. Each district must provide a boy and a girl, called tributes, to participate. They must fight each other to death, with the last tribute standing wins. Whatever they say, the message was clear. "You lift a finger, we destroy you."

To make matters worse, we were required to treat it as a _celebration_. It really _is_ a celebration in the Capitol, where they actually enjoy the blood spilled during the Games.

In seventy-four years, District 12 only had two victors. Haymitch Abernathy, a drunk middle-aged man, is the only one alive. He seemed to be fresh from the effects of the drink. The crowd applauded, but he's confused and tried to give Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, a big hug, and fell into his seat.

The mayor looked distressed, though I can't help smirking. Everything was being televised now, and District 12 would be the laughingstock of Panem, and he knew it. He quickly introduced Effie Trinket, who trotted to the podium and said, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" in her irritating high-pitched Capitol accent.

I turned to Katniss, who looked back at me, mirroring my ghost of smile. Trust Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket to give you a slight entertainment on reaping day. Then suddenly I was thinking of Katniss' twenty slips and my own forty-two slips, and that the odds were entirely _not_ in our favor, my face darkened and I turned away, clenching my jaw.

Effie Trinket crossed to the girls' glass ball, reached in, dug her hand deep into the ball, and pulled out a slip of paper. And I was hoping, hoping, desperately hoping, that it would not be Katniss Everdeen.

She crossed back to the podium and smoothed the paper.

Effie Trinket's shrill Capitol voice rang through the whole hushed square.

And it's not Katniss Everdeen. Not her.

The echo of the shrill Capitol voice rang loud, unmistakably clear in my head.

It's Primrose Everdeen.

**A/N :My first fanfic, so do review and tell me what you think! Thanks:)**


	2. Chapter 2 -The 74th Reaping

**Disclaimer : I do not own the Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Chapter 2 : The 74th Reaping**

I stood there, frozen, paralysed in shock. Once upon a time, a few bleak years ago, when the coal mine exploded, signalling my father's death - I was in this same condition, frozen, vainly trying to hold on, futilely trying to remember how to breathe, how to move. I didn't know how long I stood there, unmoving, only forced out from my stupor from the low, unhappy murmurings of the crowd when a twelve-year-old got reaped.

Why her? Why _Prim_? Katniss had told me how she took all the effort, signed her own name for tesserae, prevented Prim from doing so, so that when she's twelve, she only has one slip among the thousand others. One slip. _Just one_. The odds were entirely in Prim's favour.

And I saw her. Walking with stiff, small steps, fists balled tightly on her sides, face drained of colour, towards the stage.

Suddenly I wasn't looking numbly at Prim anymore. My eyes were glued at a young boy, fresh from the age of twelve, face masked in absolute horror as he took the same stiff, fearful steps towards the stage. As he passed me, I caught a glimpse of him, taking in his strikingly similar features to mine - the similar Seam look, the dark brown hair, the familiar grey eyes…

I was staring blankly at the image of _Rory_ Hawthorne. And somehow I was stretching myself, reaching towards him, trying to push him back, shielding him from the gruesome reality of the Hunger Games, because that's what an older brother would do, to protect his younger brother.

_Entirely the same as what an older sister would do to protect her younger sister._

The realization hit me like a bullet the same time as a strangled, painstakingly familiar voice choked out. "Prim!" "Prim!" Katniss cried out, this time louder. With one sweep of her arm, Katniss pushed Prim behind her.

"I volunteer!" She gasped. "I volunteer as tribute!"

My heart stopped. I knew it. I willed myself to walk, and walked I did, all the while trying effortlessly to tune out the slight debate between Effie Trinket and Mayor Undersee regarding the rusty protocol of volunteering as tribute. The red hot, fiery rage of me of the Capitol surfaced as I thought grimly of any past volunteers of District 12 that I knew. None. In a place where the word _tribute_ was synonymous as _corpse_, Volunteers were all but extinct. Another twisted way of the Capitol of showing us that we were totally under their power.

Prim screamed hysterically, wrapping herself round Katniss tightly. "No. Katniss! No! You can't go!" Prim's shrieks pierced me, razor-sharp, kindling the fire and hatred I buried towards the Capitol.

"Prim, let go," I heard Katniss, and I wanted to squeeze her hand, to tell her how highly I look up to her for keeping her composure, for not breaking down, even if it's just that she didn't want to appear as a weakling, an easy target. "Let go!" she said again, this time harsher.

All the while I was pulling Prim from Katniss, and now I had a harder task of keeping a wildly thrashing Prim in my arms. In a voice I'm fighting to keep steady, I said, "Up you go, Catnip." I registered the pain, and fear behind her indifferent mask as I turned back, carrying Prim off towards Katniss' mother.

"Well, bravo!" gushed Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games!" I had a hard time forcing myself not to turn back, not to tell that funky Capitol escort what I exactly thought of the her, of the Games, that she knew nothing behind Katniss' sacrifice. _She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it_, I thought, disgusted to the core. "What's your name?" she asked.

_Katniss Everdeen_, I swallowed as I thought. My hunting partner. The one person I could truly be myself with. The one special girl I love with all my heart. As my mind wander back to the woods, I thought of the plan of running away. It seemed perfect now, something I would yearn for, to have Katniss, free from the Capitol's sick games. But then, what about Prim? Prim wouldn't be safe from the games either.

I barely remember handing Prim to Katniss' mum, or returning to my original position, as Effie Trinket trilled, ""I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I clenched my jaw. _Glory_? _What glory? Glory of cutting others up? Glory of getting wrestled to death? Glory of being another piece in the Capitol's games?_

Katniss stood there, unmoving, looking strong, but I knew that deep down she was breaking. I cringed as I pictured Katniss, wounded, injured and outnumbered, being cornered by a pack of bloodthirsty Careers, just like that horrendous nightmare earlier this morning. _No_, I told myself firmly, _get a grip_. Katniss _will_ win this. She _will _come back.

To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person clapped. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who were usually beyond caring. Everyone took part in the protest. Possibly because they knew Katniss from the Hob, or knew her father, or had encountered Prim, who no one could help loving. So instead of applausing everyone took part in the boldest form of dissent we could manage. Silence. Which meant, _we do not agree. This is wrong._ There. I suppressed a snicker. A slap on the Capitol's face.

Then, I caught sight of a member of the crowd touching the three middle fingers of his left hand to his lips and held it out to Katniss. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, admiration, good-bye to someone you love. And as I did the same, extending my hand out to Katniss, I wasn't thinking of saying goodbye to her, I was showing her that I admire her, I care for her, I believe her, that I respected and understood the sacrifice she made for Prim, and I, was touched to the core by it.

Something flickered over her face. She understood.

Heat swelled to my face. I wasn't sure if I could take anymore of this. So I was torn beyond gratified and disgusted when Haymitch Abernathy chose this time to come staggering across the stage towards Katniss. "Look at her! Look at this one!" he bellowed, throwing his arm around her shoulders. I must say that I'm surprised at how strong he is for a drunk wreck. 'I like her! Lots of…" he paused for a while, and I couldn't tell if he was actually trying to find an appropriate word or to shake himself from his drunkenness.

"Spunk!" he said triumphantly. "More than you!" he released Katniss and started for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouted, pointing _directly_ at the camera. I couldn't tell for sure whether he was actually taunting the Capitol or addressing the audience, but at this time I snickered aloud. Even a drunk victor had the nerves to taunt the high and mighty Capitol.

Haymitch was then whisked away on a stretcher after he plummeted into unconsciousness. "What an exciting day!" Effie Trinket warbled as she attempted to straighten her wig, which had severed to the right, making her look like a total weirdo. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" she trilled.

I mentally calculated the chances I had to snatch that stupid bowl and dodge away free. _It could be easy_, I told myself dreamily. I was one of the fastest runners in school, and years and years of intense hunting had complimented to my muscular yet lanky build. _Just stretch your legs, break into a sprint, grab the bowl, turn around_…As though sensing my irrational plan, Effie Trinket crossed to the bowl containing the boys' names and planted her hand in. I clenched my jaw. I had to admit, I wouldn't actually stand much of a chance. I didn't know what on earth was wrong with me today. Maybe my brain was just filled with crazy ideas on the day of the reaping.

In a haste where I would interpret as trying to contain her tenuous hair situation, Effie Trinket grabbed the first slip she encountered. The crowd drew a collective breath as she floated back to the podium, as I stared blankly ahead with my hands rigid on my sides, balled into tight fists.

"Peeta Mellark."

I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. At least it wasn't Rory, and it was something that the odds amounted to me on this dark day. And it wasn't me either, so I wouldn't have to entertain the horrendous thought of having to slit another person's throat.

I looked at Katniss, but her mind was clearly fixated at something else. Something that had to do with that name called out a mere seconds ago. Something that had to do with that medium height, stocky build blond boy that was clearly struggling to contain his shock beyond his blue eyes. You couldn't possibly not know what the love of your life was feeling after spending such a long time with that person. The shock, recognition, fear, guilt and gratitude were evident on her face.

Peeta. So that was the name of the boy who was always staring at me with fierce hostility and jealousy at the bakery. That was the name of the youngest son of the baker that I constantly traded with. And now, it seemed like the name that _my_ Catnip seemed to have a deep, unspoken connection with.

I wasn't sure if now, _I_ was the one who was staring at baker boy with fierce hostility and jealousy.

My attention was brought back to the present when Effie Trinket asked for volunteers. I briefly decided stepping forward as volunteer, to protect Katniss in the arena, but I knew if I did that, Katniss would never forgive me. We both had an unofficial promise, that when either of us gets reaped for the Games, the other would stay back at home to take care of each other's families. And I knew that Katniss would want me to protect her mother, and her beloved sister, Prim, now that she was going to die. She would place her family over herself. And as much as I hated to admit it, the same goes for me. I would rather have Katniss' protection over my family than over me if the table turned and I was the one who volunteered for Rory.

So no one stepped forward. I knew he had two older brothers, whom I saw in the bakery. The eldest one was most probably too old to volunteer, but the other could. And _wouldn't_. This was standard. This was the normal thing. Family devotion only went so far for most people on reaping day. What Katniss did was the unsung, radical thing.

The mayor began reading the dull, dreary Treaty of Treason like he did every year –it's required – but this time I didn't have to tune out the unremarkably boring reading to be alone in my own thoughts. What was baker boy's connection to Katniss? What _exactly_ was _Peeta Mellark's_ connection to _my_ Catnip?

Glancing back at Katniss, I tried to decipher the meaning behind her play of emotions. When his name was first called, there was shock, then recognition, then gratitude, then guilt and lastly, _fear_. That shock was acceptable. It was a shock –still a shock –to know who was the year's unlucky tribute, and I bet the same went for Katniss as well. But the recognition –I knew Katniss saw Peeta before at the bakery during our trades –but I had an oddly feeling that there was something more behind that recognition. It wasn't the recognition that he was someone she saw during our trades –it was the kind of recognition that she'd some kind of unspoken connection with him. Which meant that baker boy once played an important role in Katniss' life –one so important, so _personal_ that she didn't even share it with me.

I clenched my jaw, suddenly hating everything in front of me. Her emotion of gratitude –towards _Peeta_ –confirmed my theory that she had some kind of deep connection with him. Guilt –it could only mean one thing for us who live in the Seam. Guilt was the one emotion anyone in the Seam would feel when we were indebted to someone, unable to repay what someone had done for us. And that was what Katniss was feeling towards baker boy. He once helped Katniss, once _saved _her.

Red haze clouded my vision. Then I tried to tell myself that all of this didn't matter, that all of this was pointless. Because either Katniss or baker boy would be gone in a few days. Which brought me back to her last emotion –fear. Trying my best to ignore the nagging thought that Katniss might actually be fearing baker boy's fate, I focused on his strength, his skills that might endanger Katniss.

As much as I hated to admit, that boy _is_ strong. You couldn't not be strong when your whole life was practically spent at chucking bags of flour around the bakery. Well, not _chucking_, but lifting hundred pounds bags of flour. And to add a whole point to that, he came in second in the wrestle competition in school last year, only after his brother. And I'd bet he actually is far handy with a _knife_ than he ever knew it himself, for years and years of dough rolling and bread slicing would amount something to handling a knife with accuracy.

Just then, the mayor motioned for Katniss and baker boy to shake hands. I panicked. For somehow, Katniss might be killed by the boy whom she felt such a deep gratitude for. Possibly by the very hand she was shaking right now. I gritted my teeth. If Peeta Mellark was the one who was going to kill Katniss, I wouldn't be –_sorry_ –if I saw a harpoon buried in his chest. And if he amazingly survived till the end, _I _would make sure that he would be dead once he set a foot off that victor train.

The playing of the anthem of Panem helped nothing in calming my now racing mind.

_Relax_, I told myself. There're twenty-four tributes altogether. Odds are, someone else, perhaps the careers, would kill him before he had the chance to kill Katniss.

Since when, though, had the odds been _ever_ in our favor?

**A/N : Very sorry for the late update. I was away at a camp and there wasn't any internet access there. Anyway, here's chapter two and do tell me what you think! Thanks-)**


	3. Chapter 3 - Unsaid Words

**Disclaimer : I do not own the Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Chapter Three : Unsaid Words**

The moment the anthem ended, Katniss and Peeta were both taken into custody. It wasn't that they were handcuffed or anything, but a ridiculously _huge_ group of Peacekeepers marched them through the front door of the Justice Building. I couldn't quite fathom the sense behind the procedure, though. It wasn't like escape was possible when you're surrounded with people all around you.

I continued to stare at Katniss' back until she was totally out of sight. It was when people gradually dispersed that I loosened my clenched jaw and went towards my family. They were not difficult to spot. Huddled in a corner, was my mother, protectively hugging Rory, her other hand cradling Posy with fierce maternal protection. Beside them stood Vick, who was clinging to her as well.

Suddenly overwhelmed by my family's closeness, I strode quickly towards them. With one sweep of my arm, I pulled Rory into a tight embrace.

"I'm not in, Gale. I'm not," Rory whispered, his twelve-year-old voice more vulnerable than I ever heard before. My older brother protective instinct kicked forward.

"You're not, Rory, I wouldn't have let it happen," I said back, frantically giving him all the reassurance he needed. "You're safe, Rory. Don't worry," I continued, all the while marveling in the fact that my brother was still here, temporarily safe from the Games.

After finishing hugging my family and mentally telling myself that they were now safe, my mother looked at me and said wisely, "Go, Gale. Tell her all she needs to hear."

I nodded, feeling thankful for having such an understanding mother. "Go home now. Then eat the fish and bread I brought home today," I instructed.

As I walked towards the Justice Building, my mind was all filled with racing thoughts on what I should tell Katniss. She must have a bow and arrow with her, I decided. Then that would be her best bet at coming home. And I decided against overwhelming her too much with the true reality of the Games, as well. She already had enough to deal with.

"What are you doing here?" a sharp voice barked at me, while hands instinctively shoved me back. Momentarily startled, my mind went disrupted abruptly.

"Gale Hawthorne. Katniss Everdeen would want to see me," I replied, with firmness in my voice as I took in the arrogant forms of the two Peacekeepers that held me back.

One of them sneered at me, while the other scowled at me, motioning me to follow him. I was then led into a room that would most likely be called the richest place I'd ever known, for it was filled with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs.

"Only five minutes. _Not_ more than that. Do you hear me?" Then, without waiting for an answer, the Peacekeeper slammed the door behind me.

When I saw Katniss, _my_ Catnip, curled on the couch with a brave front when deep inside she's actually dying, I had a hard time containing myself as I opened my arms. She went into them without any hesitation, while I breathed in her scent, took in the sound of her heart beat. Then I willed myself to talk.

"Listen," I said, urgently, for the stupid Peacekeeper might be back any moment and I was not going to leave without telling her to get her hands on a bow. "Listen," I repeated. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance," I said.

"They don't always have bows," she replied, and my mind instinctively went to a year when there were only brutal looking harpoons that the tributes had to slam it into one another with.

"Then make one," I insisted. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all."

"I don't even know if there'll be wood," she said, and I didn't have to be a mind reader to know that she was thinking about a horrible year where the tributes were tossed into a landscape of nothing but boulders, sand and scruffy bushes. Many tributes were either bitten by venomous snakes or went insane form thirst.

"There's almost always some wood," I said. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that." I gritted my teeth as I digested the truth behind my own words. We spent one Hunger Games watching the players freeze to death at night. You could hardly see them because they were just huddled in balls and had no wood for fires or torches or anything. It was considered very anti-climactic in the Capitol, all those quiet, bloodless deaths. Since then, there's usually been wood to make fires.

"Yes, there's usually some," she replied in the same monotone voice. Her resigned attitude frightened me. She didn't really think she'd lose out that fast, did she?

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," I babbled on, frantically trying to shove some fire in her.

"It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think," she replied, her face one of helplessness and despair.

"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," I said. "You know how to kill."

"Not people," she said.

"How different can it be, really?" I said grimly. I didn't want to come out as cold, but the awful thing was that if you could forget they're people, it would be no different at all.

The Peacekeepers were then back too soon and began yanking us apart. I practically _begged_ for more time, but they're pulling me away and I had a hard time concentrating on what Katniss tried to tell me in a panicked voice.

"Don't let them starve!" she cried out, clinging to my hand.

"I won't! You know I won't!" I reassured her. Then I was overwhelmed by the fact that I might never see her again, that I might never have the chance to tell her I love her more than she ever knew. "Katniss, remember I—" I shouted, and they yanked us apart with such force that the last thing I saw was Katniss' face before they slammed the door right in my face.

I stalked away, my teeth gritted tightly as I ignored the taunting looks of the Peacekeepers.

Soon Katniss would be sent to the train station form the Justice Building, and once again I hated the Capitol for sending the reporters with their insectlike cameras. For all that was irritating, couldn't they give Katniss a moment of privacy?

I felt my hands balled into fists as my thoughts changed to what I'd left unsaid. There. Gone was the last chance for me to tell her I love her. Gone was the very chance for me to let her know I love her. _Gone._

The sky began to turn dark as I hurried towards the Everdeen's. I made a promise, and I was determined to keep it. I walked down the street towards the familiar sight of Katniss' little house that now housed only two people instead of three.

"Gale?" a small voice cried out. I looked down, finding Prim looking up at me, her eyes red and puffy, the obvious signs that she had been crying.

I pulled her into me, wincing. To me, the pain that the Capitol inflicted on the young children was always unforgivable, for it left a scar too deep to ever be healed.

"She'll be fine. She will come back. She loves you enough to win," I smoothed her blond hair, desperately reassuring her. This part I knew was true. Katniss loved Prim, and would do anything to see her again.

I carried Prim into the house, where Mrs. Everdeen was sitting on the chair, staring vacantly into space. _This couldn't be happening_, I told myself. It couldn't be. Mrs. Everdeen could _not_ just fade away like that, leaving the weight of the world to Prim's fragile shoulders. I always found it hard why Katniss couldn't really forgive her mother, but now it seemed like it made sense to me. I knew that when Katniss' father passed away, the same time when my own father died in the coal mines, Mrs. Everdeen had been too grief-stricken and was often lost in her own world, doing nothing for her children, leaving them to fend for themselves. Listening to it was one thing. Witnessing it was another.

"Mrs Everdeen," I said firmly, grabbing her hands. "Listen to me. Prim needs you. You have to be strong. You just _have_ to," I got those words out. For I would come everyday to give them food, but if Mrs. Everdeen was going to sit there and get lost in her own world again, who was going to care for Prim during the night?

For a while I thought Mrs Everdeen was truly lost in her own world. But then she looked straight into my eyes, and with all her strength, she said, "I promised her."

I felt relief. For though Mrs Everdeen wasn't born in the Seam, she certainly had lived in the Seam long enough to understand the essence of promises. And if Katniss made her promised that, she wouldn't really turned her back on it. I heaved a sigh of momentary relief.

Mrs Everdeen got up, and went towards the kitchen. She set a pot on the stove, and I was once again relieved to find chunks of fish inside. The Everdeens were eating tonight.

"Katniss wanted you to get me some herbs for the apothecary business," she started. Mrs Everdeen was skilled in traditional medicine, and she ran an apothecary business for the people of the Seam. She then launched into a full flow of explanation on what kind of herbs she needed, and how they differ from some poisonous ones in the forest.

When she finished, I thanked her, though I wasn't sure I was thanking her for staying strong or keeping her promise to Katniss. Before leaving, I made sure both Mrs Everdeen and Prim had enough fish and bread for dinner. Prim hugged me again before I left. I guessed she truly missed her elder sister and needed to find a little solace in me. It touched me. I didn't know that Prim trusted me that much.

Thanks to Mrs Everdeen's explanation on the herbs, I remembered a shocking truth regarding my hunts in the woods. Seeing that the Games would be televised, I would have to hunt extra early to avoid the electrical current on the fence surrounding the woods. I made a mental note to wake up earlier every morning.

As I made my way back to my house, my thoughts wandered back to Katniss. Was she thinking of me? Was she yearning for our weekend hunts? _Stupid_, I cursed myself. That was just plain stupid of me. Why should she be thinking about me? She should be thinking of herself, her survival. I shook my head slowly.

I thought of where Katniss would most likely be. Most probably she's on her way to the Capitol on that tribute train. I wondered how she was coping. I'd heard before that the tribute train was far fancier than the room in the Justice Building. Not that I paid much attention to it before, for I couldn't see how it would help me get food on the table. Everything in it. The rooms, the showers, and the food. The part about the food disgusted me, though. It was like the Capitol treated the tributes as calf fattened up, all prepared to be slaughtered for a celebration. Though, in this case, it seemed like it, if you knew what I meant. Why shower the tributes with such wealth when everything was going to be robbed from them in a mere few days? I could feel my face smoldering under my hard expression.

Once I got home, the sight of my family eating called me a little. My mother smiled at me, glancing at me with concern. I smiled back a sad smile, then settled to the food my mother shoved at me. As I ate the food of fish and bread, I once again remembered that it was what I got together with Katniss earlier this morning. Could it only had been this morning that we were both out hunting, trading – and that now it was robbed form us?

After dinner, all of us gathered around the battered television to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. It wasn't compulsory, but I decided to watch it since it'd give me a clearer picture on who Katniss was going to face in the arena. A few stood out in my mind. As usual, the career tributes, the ones from District One and Two. Marvel, the boy from One, looked vicious with a spear; whereas Glimmer – uh, I shuddered a little at the names people in District One give to their children – the tribute from One, didn't look much like a career, except for the fact that she had a bloodthirsty streak in her, like the usual.

A monstrous boy from District Two lunged forward to volunteer, who I later learned to be Cato. I clenched my jaw as I pictured Katniss in a hand to hand combat with him. _Stop it_, I told myself. He wouldn't be good with a bow and arrow. Clove, the girl tribute for Two, looked lethal with knives. It was like she knew twenty different ways to kill a person with a knife. I lost track of the number of times I clenched my jaw today.

Surprisingly, the tributes form District Four, one of the districts that produce careers, didn't look that scary after all. A fox-faced girl, Keela, from District Five, caught my attention as well. She was exactly the kind of person you wouldn't want to stop for a few words because you might as well earn a stab at your back in the process. District Eleven's boy tribute, Thresh, was muscular and looked at people with emotionless eyes. I didn't know why, but I felt kind of sorry for him. Probably because he came from Eleven, a district that could be equalized as the Seam in Twelve.

And, most hauntingly, a twelve- year-old girl, Rue, from District Eleven. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she reminded me very much of Prim. Only when she mounted the stage and they asked for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There's no Katniss to take her place. Anger boiled in me. I tried to think of when a twelve-year-old survived the first day, the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. None. These little ones were always targeted first by the careers, or either too small to defend themselves.

I skipped the replay of the reapings of District Twelve. I didn't want any reminders of the dark events of today.

Hours later, after waking up from yet another terrifying nightmare and finding my family sleeping soundly, I stared out at the room. The events I desperately did not want to recall flashed in front of me. The desperate look on Katniss' face, her last pleas, the choking in my throat, the slamming of the door…

"Katniss, remember I –" I shut my eyes, frantically blocking out the sounds of my own desperate voice, the guilt that the unspoken words ruled over me.

"Love you," I whispered.

**A/N : As always, thank you for the reviews and do continue to tell me what you think! **


	4. Chapter 4 - How I Met You

**Disclaimer : I do not own the Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Chapter Four : How I Met You**

Sounds of laughter filled my ears, as I looked up to see faces filled with pure happiness and joy. I felt the own corners of my lips tugged, forming a smile, an expression I did so little times that I could count it easily with both my hands.

A head leaned on my left shoulder, and I turned to my left, my smile growing wider as I take in the one face I would never grow tired from looking at. _Her_ face. My Catnip.

And two dark-haired, grey-eyed children were playing around, the atmosphere filled with their innocent laughter. This was bliss.

This was a place where there was no reaping, no corrupted Panem, no Hunger Games.

Hunger Games. _The Games!_ As is on cue, a slight breeze of dawn air jolted me from the remnants of my blissful euphoria. I shut my eyes tightly, unwilling to open them; for if I did, I would face the harsh reality of what the day would bring. I wasn't ready to face the cold, bitter truth.

Like always, all my efforts were futile. At once I remembered yesterday's reaping. Prim's name being reaped. Katniss volunteering to take her place. And Katniss being carted away from me.

Katniss. That's what that matters, right? I had a promise to keep. I have to be strong. Be strong, even if it meant hunting on my own, venturing the woods alone. _Alone._ Without her.

With a sigh, I got up, and slid into my hunting jacket and boots. _Today_ was officially the first day I ever hunted alone without Katniss. It's bound to be one long, painful hunt.

It was still early, earlier than the times when I hunted with Katniss. Apparently my mind had an automatic alarm clock, waking me up earlier as the fence surrounding the woods might be electrified earlier, since the Games are now on. When I reached a net of barbed wires which

are what I would only call as a fence, I stayed back a little, looking out for the slight buzzing, which would indicate the fence was alive.

Not the slightest sound. I slid in, and once again even this action reminded me of Katniss.

I set up snares, and checked the ones I previously set up. Now that Katniss was no longer hunting with me, I had to double the amount of game I brought down to make sure it was really sufficient for both my family and Katniss'. Then I decided to try some luck with a bow, in which I managed to bring down two rabbits. I collected some greens, and the herbs Mrs Everdeen requested for her apothecary. Most of the herbs looked the same, though Mrs Everdeen's explanations yesterday gave them some noticeable yet hidden differences. I double checked, and triple checked the leaves. I didn't want to let Mrs Everdeen down, seeing that she made an effort to pull herself together to stay strong for Prim.

As I gathered up my stuff and prepared to leave, the corner of my eye caught the blackberry bush. Was it really only yesterday that we sat here, ate blackberries together, tauntd the Capitol, and talked about my stupid attempt in running away? It was.

And where would she be now? Arriving at the Capitol, I bet. Today she would meet her prep team and stylist, and spend the whole day prepping for tonight's opening ceremony. I thought of the past costumes the District 12 tributes were dressed in. Coal dirt, and coal. One year the tributes were even presented stark naked and covered in black dust to symbolize the coal dust. It was dreadful and had no effect at all in winning the favor of the crowd.

I swear if they have the nerve to have Katniss presented like that tonight, I would personally hunt them down, I vowed grimly. For no matter how much I despise the Capitol crowd, and as much as I hated to admit it, sponsors sometimes meant life or death for a tribute in the arena. A bottle of medicine, a flask of water, your weapon of choice – sometimes a tribute's life was honestly balanced on it. Your life depending on some Capitol idiot – needless to say, I _hated _it. With a burning fire.

It was near midday when I came out of the woods – so they hadn't started televising the Games here, yet. I swung by my usual trading place, the Hob; then checked in at the Everdeens', where I spent some time differentiating more herbs with Mrs Everdeen.

Finally I made it home, where I gave today's game to my mother.

...

I knew I should get up, and leave the woods. But I held my place, unmoving. I didn't know exactly why, but I felt that I just couldn't see Katniss. I – I wasn't _prepared_ to. This would be the first time I didn't see her face to face, but from a screen. A _screen. _A lame excuse, I knew, but I honestly just wasn't prepared to.

The smell of the woods, the slight rustling of the leaves – it all reminded me of Katniss, and our time together. I closed my eyes, inhaling the rich scent of the woods, for this was peace. This was _ours_. This was the very place that brought us together, and the memories in it, like always, brought me to that first time.

My father had been killed in the same coal mine explosion as her father. No amount of heat would ever warm me up from that cold numbness I felt when I first heard the news, and, it was bitter cold January at that time. As the eldest child of the family, I had to be at the Justice Building to receive the Medal of Valor, which they put it as "respect for my father". I was angry, and the fire inside me was boiling, for I was thinking of how useless, how _stupid_ the whole thing was. My father was _killed_, taken away from me in one cruel sweep, and they were going to give me some _stupid metal_ like that could ever replace my father.

And I was only thirteen, with a family of three – no, _four_, to feed. My mother, Rory, Vick and a baby on the way. My mother was pregnant, and only days away from giving birth, and somehow my father wouldn't get to see this new addition to our family. How was I supposed to find food, the right amount so that my family wouldn't starve? I had started taking tesserae, but anyone with a sane mind would know that the meager amount of grain and oil wouldn't be enough to feed five mouths. Once again, they were actually going to present me some _stupid metal_, when they could easily give me some food instead?

The whole thing was just so maddening, so infuriating. And it was that time when a girl with her dark side braid turned back and glanced at me. The brief moment our eyes met, it was like everything I felt was in her grey eyes as well, that there was someone who was feeling the way I do. Later that day I dismissed that thought, for I was too bitter, and preoccupied with the worry of feeding my family.

Just like I expected, the tesserae grain wasn't sufficient as food. Gradually what little we had began to run out. And it was that fleeting moment, of seeing the haggard look on my mother's face, the look of pure hunger on my brothers' faces, and the cries from Posy, that strengthened my resolve.

I decided to risk the woods. It was a risky one – with the wild animals in it. But there was food in it, and my father had taught me a little about it. Besides, he had taught me his valuable knowledge on snares and fishing, and left me a bow and some arrows.

From that day the woods became my savior. The snares I set up caught squirrels, rabbits – and sometimes with a little luck I managed to bring down some rabbits with my bow. My shot wasn't exact, though, it sometimes missed. I found out I had a certain fascination for snares, and everyday I practised setting up different types of snares, including the hard twitch-up snare my father had taught me only a little about. And there was the fishing, where I managed to catch fish from the little lake in the woods. There were the greens, and the strawberries as well.

Still, it wasn't enough. There was still the pencils for Rory's school to worry about, Posy's milk powder, and thread whenever our clothes fell apart. I braved myself, and traded in the Hob, a black market where I used to follow my father. Then I learned that the mayor had a fondness for strawberries, and the head peacekeeper Cray loved turkey.

With this, and the slight amount of money my mother received from washing clothes – in which her fingers scrubbed the washboard till sore – my family was able to survive. I loved my family, and I did not mind carrying the burden of doing all these hard work for them – but something in me changed. I was never the same, growing bitter and full of resentment towards the Capitol; and the fiery rage inside me deepened.

And then she came up for the second time. It was a few months after I turned fourteen, and was just about the check my snares like I always did when I spotted her, examining my snare with evident curiosity and concentration. I frowned a little, for the last thing I wanted was someone else messing with my catch.

"That's dangerous," I said, and her small frame of twelve jumped a little at my voice. I knew what was going on in her mind – I towered over her standing at six feet, clearly taking after my father's tall genes. Well, I was a freak, anyway. "What's your name?" I asked, when the actual thing I wanted to ask was "_What are you doing here_?"

She mumbled something like Catnip, Catnis or Katnip in response.

"Well, Catnip," I said, using the first closest sound that came into my mind. "Stealing's punishable by death, or haven't you heard it?" I asked, tense, a rhetorical question.

"Katniss," she said, louder. It was a nice name, really. A unique one. "And I wasn't stealing. I was only looking at your snare. Mine never catch anything," she added.

My eyes shot to her left hand, where it held a squirrel. I scowled instinctively, for there was a squirrel in her hand, unless I had some blindness I didn't know about.

"Where'd you get the squirrel?" I asked, gesturing towards the squirrel in her hand. I had to admit I was honestly curious to know her answer.

"I shot it." Her answer brought me short, and I had to say I was impressed. Impressed that my arrows rarely caught anything, and impressed that a twelve-year-old girl like her managed to shoot squirrels. "Can I see it?" The words came out of my mouth without thinking.

A bit reluctant, which I supposed was understandable from my hostile demeanor, she passed her bow to me. "Just remember, stealing's punishable by death," she warned, throwing my words back at me.

And that was the first time I genuinely smiled. It was like the first time we met at the Justice Building, where I felt that she felt exactly the same way as I did. That day onwards we met up regularly, though it took us quite some time to stop hassling each other and actually help each other out. I didn't know what the hesitation was on her side, but there was still the pull of difficulty to trust that pulled me back. She wanted to know about snares, just like I wanted to know how to handle a bow properly. On top of that, we exchanged what we knew – knowledge on edible plants, survival skills, climbing, fishing – you name it.

We became close confidants, and called each other "best friends", though it seemed like more to me. She felt like a sister to me. We trusted each other with our deepest secrets, our worst fears and counted on each other to watch each other's backs. We became a hunting team, inseparable. We were two fatherless children, motivated by survival and the deep love for our family, fighting against all odds together.

I did have a life outside of Katniss, though. Spending time with Katniss – at times I was truly happy. So when our time together came to an end, I was overwhelmed by a strong feeling of loneliness, and emptiness. I thought that somebody else would be able to fill that emptiness, someone other than Katniss.

So I kissed the girls. At school, behind the slag heap…you name it. I still didn't get over my father's death, and felt that I had to do this. And that somehow this could feel the emptiness in me, when it clearly didn't. But I didn't stop. For I felt that if I didn't, I would be far worse, a wrecked piece of crumpled paper.

It was only a matter of time before I exceeded sixteen, when suddenly Katniss wasn't just my sister anymore. It was strange, what I felt. When I see strands of hair falling at the side of her face, I had the urge to tuck it back. When she sat beside me, I had the feeling to wrap my arms round her. I didn't know what it really was, though we still hunted like how we always did. From that time I kissed less girls, for whenever I wanted to kiss some girl, I thought of how I was somewhat dishonest to Katniss. Which was ironic, seeing that I myself didn't know what that feeling was.

Six months before my last reaping, I finally had a name to what that feeling was. We were doing our usual trades at the Hob, and Darius, one of the peacekeepers that frequented the Hob, was teasing her, just like the usual. Well, Katnis had no idea what effect she held on guys, I suppose. Anyway, I wasn't really paying attention to their exchange, but then something Darius mentioned brought me short.

He said something about an exchange for one of Katniss' kisses.

Something inside me snapped. A second I was trying to tune out their exchange, the other my muscles tensed, just like how I would before a kill. Though in this case, there was no killing, unless you counted my strong urge to give Darius a slap across his face. This was weird. I didn't know what came over me, and when we walked back home that day I was unresponsive, biting and indifferent.

I was jealous. Jealous that Darius had the nerve to _suggest _kissing Katniss, jealous that from the years of hunting with Katniss, I was blind enough to see what I felt for her, and needed Darius to show me what I actually felt. I minded who kissed Katniss, I realized. I minded _a lot._I wanted to be the one to fell the softness of her lips, the one to be with her through thick and thin, no matter what.

From that instance I stopped kissing other girls. For I knew that the emptiness, the hollowness I felt was healed by Katniss, _my _Catnip, not by any of them. Katniss is mine. As I am hers. Anything else is unimaginable, unthinkable. Why did it had to take a flirting attempt from someone like Darius for me to actually see it?

Many times during our hunts I wanted to pull her to me, and whisper into her ear that I love her. But I restrained myself. I didn't know exactly why, maybe I just wanted her to realize her own feelings, just like I did with my own. Or maybe I just didn't want to pressure her. But my love for her never wavered, never flickered.

So on the morning of the reaping, when I thought of how bleak the whole future is, how dim everything seemed, how even surviving the day seemed a horrific task – I blurted out the stupid idea of running away. Stupid, for how can I just think of Katniss and forget about our families? Then I thought of how we could never have children, not because we didn't want to but because of the fear of them being reaped. From that instance my mood soured, making me horrible company for the rest of the morning.

Then I thought that maybe, just _maybe_, we could both survive the reaping, and then I would properly apologize and tell her I love her. Turned out we both survived, in a way, but it meant _far worse_. Prim was reaped instead. Katniss volunteered to take her place, and I couldn't blame her for that, because as much as I hated to admit it, if it had been Rory, I would have done the same without hesitation.

I watched her being whisked off to the Capitol, towards her end. I remembered the slamming of the door, so vividly, signaling the closure of any of my attempts to tell her I love her.

I love you.

Three simple words, and now it looked like I would never be able to say it to her.

Like last night, the guilt overruled me, wrecking me with such force. It was times like this when I honestly thought that unsaid words hurt you more than said words.

Since I couldn't tell her that, couldn't I do what I could for her? To ensure she came home? Be there for her, no matter how much I detested the fact that she was right there in the Capitol?

I could. I _can_. That was as far as I thought as I got up and made my way towards the fence enclosing the woods. There was no hum of electricity, indicating the televised ceremonies hadn't started yet. Well, District 12 always lagged behind in terms of this kind of stuff, anyway. Usually I would be angry at this unfair treatment. Today I was relieved. Relieved that I was able to slid past the fence and get a glimpse of Katniss. Of _her_.

I was a fast runner, this much I knew. It would take mere minutes for me to reach the square, where everyone was required to watch the ceremonies, for it was mandatory viewing. So I ran, pushing my legs to go faster.

My mind was hazy as I ran. But one thought stood out.

I had to see my Catnip. I owed her that.

**A/N : Very very sorry for the late update. I'm definitely continuing this, though it would take time (School…)-/ Thank you for staying with me:)**

**Special thanks to ladyknght!**

**As always, reviews!:) **


	5. Chapter 5 - She's On Fire

**Disclaimer : I do not own the Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Chapter Five : She's on Fire**

Mandatory Viewing – Opening Ceremony

Surprise. Relief.

That's the two distinct emotions I registered on my mother's face as I slid into the empty seat between her and Rory at the town square. Well, considering the fact that I actually _stormed out_ without a word once I knew I was supposed to be here for the opening ceremony…it could be considered some kind of _miracle_, if miracles really _did _exist. For I never turned back once I had set my mind on something.

I was hard-headed. All because of the sick, twisted Capitol and their manipulating games. Their games where blood were spilled, innocent lives were sacrificed for their _sick _entertainment. Their games where Katniss was in at this very moment.

_Focus_, I told myself. I flashed my mother an apologetic smile, hoping she understood. I then noticed that we were by the front rows, together with the Everdeens and the Mellarks. I felt my gaze at the middle Mellark kid hardened as I remembered how he wouldn't volunteer for his brother, and now here he was, sitting at the front lines and watching his brother from a _screen_. Then I remembered that family devotion only ran that _deep _for most people, and that because of this Katniss was in the Games with _Peeta _and pushed that thought out of my mind, for somehow Katniss and Peeta just didn't coexist well in my already fuddled thoughts.

A while later the screen roared to life, with the gleaming seal of the Capitol monopolizing most of the screen. Well, not _roar_ literally, but somehow it was like everything about the Capitol was more deadly than the roar of a wild beast, I you knew what I meant.

The bubbly, upbeat voices of the television commentators forced my attention back to the screen. They commented on how glad and _delighted_ they were to be here for yet another _exciting_ Hunger Games opening ceremony, while the line of the ever annoying "May the odds be ever in your favour" rang incessantly in my ears. The screen then cut to the Capitol crowds packed in the City Circle, who were talking and _talking_ as if this was going to be the best show.

_Show._ Of course. I kept forgetting this was all a show, nothing more than a _game_ to them.

It once again cut back to the commentators, whom I now note as a man with hair too purple that it looked like he fell and squished a huge pile of blackberries, and a woman with hair too red that anyone who looked at her would see though that mask. Red. A sickening, bright _blood-red_. As if anyone needed any reminders of what all this was about.

They went on and on about what we would expect tonight, which was plain _dumb _to me, for it was the same every year, anyway. Two tributes from each district would be dressed according to their district's main industry, and paraded around like sheep ready for the slaughter. District One would show up with glittery jewels, high-technology electronics form Three, mermaids form Four, trees from Seven and so on. Once again I felt myself hyperventilating over what Katniss would be in, for a humiliation _directly_ in front of the screen was something I wasn't prepared to face.

As the massive doors open, the crowd in the Capitol drew an expectant breath, awaiting the first chariot. District One was always the crowd favourite, and it turned out to be the same this year. The for once silent Capitol crowd erupted into deafening cheers as the District One chariot pulled by, their tributes both covered in jewels that made them looked more like mannequins than normal humans.

One by one the chariots pulled by, and each were either rewarded with cheers or boos. It was always like that, the Capitol booing the ones they do not like, so it took everything in me not to take a gun and shoot down the screen. I felt the red hot fire in me stirring, waiting to explode when the crippled boy tribute form Ten was greeted with a unison boo. Crippled. Honestly, actually _crippled_ on the right foot. Being reaped and forced to parade around, only to be greeted by disfavoured boos. This – this was just _too much_.

And I literally saw _red_ as Eleven's chariot pulled by. The stark contrast between the massive boy tribute and the little girl tribute just made something inside me snap. This was just pure _murder._ That twelve-year-old girl would never survive the bloodbath, let alone the Games. How could the Capitol be this _inhuman_?

Then I lowered my head down, away from the screen. For I honestly thought I would lose control if I see Katniss in some stupid coal miner's outfit, earning nothing but jeers from the crowd. _Look up_, I hissed at myself. Wasn't this what I came her for?

It was only when the stunned gasps from the District 12 crowd and loud cheers from the Capitol crowd filled my ears that I found it in me to look up at the screen.

Fire. Flames. Bright, radiant fire. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Fire! That was all I could think of as her chariot pulled by, seemingly engulfed in flames.

The cameras then zoomed in on Katniss' radiant smile. Smile. Did I see that right? She's _smiling._ It filled me with relief, for surely this would earn her sponsors? She already seemed to be the crowd favourite, for the Capitol crowd was all but going insane from cheering and shouting her name and chanting District 12 over and over again.

Someone threw a rose at her, and she caught it, and blew a kiss in response. Katniss _blowing kisses?_ This was something. Something entirely else.

Well, not that shocking as I saw her hand, tightly interlocked with baker boy's raised high in obvious show of unity. Why? Why was her hand _tightly interlocked_ with his?

The camera zoomed in on all the tributes as District 12's chariot reached the end of the parade line. Though, it seemed to spend a relatively more amount of time on District 12's chariot, and the image of both Katniss and Peeta, shining in flames and hands still _tightly interlocked._

Katniss had no trouble getting sponsors now. So what else was bothering me? That _tightly interlocked_ hands, I recited blankly in my head. Why? Why did Haymitch made them do this? And why did it even _matter_ that much to me?

Because I love her. Because no one else should ever hold her hand, let alone the boy who might be the one to slit her throat in a mere few days.

Perhaps this was some kind of strategy? Some kind of ploy to earn them more sponsors? Then it could be true, for you only had to replay the crowd's enthusiastic cheers and the commentators' wild approval to know it rang a bell. Like I thought earlier, sponsors wouldn't be a problem now.

But that didn't mean I _like _this.

I missed the whole of the president's speech, spending the whole time with my mind turning in circles about the _tightly interlocked_ hands. Not that I cared much about Snow's speech, anyway, for I could probably recite those lies and sugar-coated deception words. I would only care if I saw his snakelike eyes unblinking, a bullet planted through his head. Well, me fantasizing killing the all-so-mighty president – go figure.

As the cameras made another round of the tributes, I was once again confused, displeased by the fact that her hand was still _tightly interlocked_ with Peeta's. Where did this foreign part of her appeared from, I wondered as she disappeared into the Training Centre, still radiating in flames.

…..

After reassuring both Mrs Everdeen and Prim that Katniss was not in danger, all of us went home. And like every other night, I would tuck Posy, my little baby sister in bed. Well, she's four, but that didn't change the fact that she's just an innocent child in my eyes, only years from suffering in the Capitol's cruel grasp.

"Gale," Posy called, her tiny fingers grasping mine, as if she was telling me her deepest secret. "I want to be just like Katniss," she said, while yawning dreamily.

I caressed her hair softly, all the while thinking "_don't, Posy."_ For we were both filled with fire, filled with vengeance, filled with burning anger towards the Capitol, towards their injustice. We were both falling apart, if not already broken, being exposed to the harsh realities of life with the Capitol ruling. Posy – my sweet, angelic little sister – I would never want her to be like us, if I ever could have a say in this.

"I wish you could just stay this little, darling," I whispered. In return, Posy innocently fluttered her eyelids, showing her childhood innocence.

I felt as if my heart would break watching Posy. Could the Capitol just sit by, watch with glee, as blood of innocent children spilled over the arena? Could the Capitol just laze around, spoiled with luxury, while people all around in the districts suffer and die from hunger? Could the Capitol just be this _inhuman_?

Yes. I could answer all those rhetorical questions. A resounding _yes._ They had taken Katniss from me, from Prim, leading her to the footstep of death. They took my father in one blink of the eye. They made my mother scrubbed her hands sore on the washboard, in her desperate attempt to keep us alive. They made me suffer in silence, fatherless and breathing every breath with desperation just to keep my family with food. And in a few years time, they would make my sister wake up form nightmares, if not from the fear of entering the arena.

The Capitol made all of us suffer, made all of us bleed. They made all of us bow down, unable to do anything to free ourselves form their tenuous grasp.

My life was only fuelled with two things – my desperation to keep my family alive and my love for Katniss. I might have yelled my frustration in the woods, I might have vented about the injustice – but that was only the beginning. The beginning that would end with me making sure Snow felt my vengeance, felt my fire as his perfect world crumbled into _ashes._

But how? How could that happen, when we could barely start an uprising, let alone a rebellion? How could we, when our only worry each monotone day was the worry of finding of food, of feeding our families? How could we, when we still fell to the Capitol's twisted way, being divided and hungry?

One only had to look one glance over us and dismiss any possibilities of a rebellion. I remembered how easily I got lost in the Capitol's twisted trap, how I snapped at Madge on the morning of the reaping just because I was pissed over the fact that she didn't have to take any tesserae, how I overlooked the fact that despite what little extra wealth she might have, she was still subjected to the Capitol's grasp.

We were divided, we were hopeless in starting any rebellion. That was as much as I acknowledged as I registered the steady breathing of Posy, the steady rise and fall of her chest just the exact innocence of a child.

….

I faintly registered the buzz of the fence as I threw another twig at it, only to be greeted by a louder buzz of the fence, an indication that despite my rebellious thoughts, I remained as hopeless as ever.

Hopeless. That was exactly what it's like to live here, under the Capitol's grasp. I couldn't even get pass the fence, and out to the woods – that's how hopeless we all were.

I dropped down to the ground of the Meadow, glaring at the still-electrified fence. I wanted so badly to escape to the woods to be alone in my thoughts, for within the Meadow didn't count as _alone_ to me. I just felt so – so _hopeless._

My mind drifted back to that image, that spitting image of their _tightly interlocked_ hands. I knew I should be relieved, that with that, she would have a better shot at coming home. Not that I ever doubted her grit, her ability, her determination to come home to Prim. But would I ever be able to close my eyes, and think of something else instead of their _tightly interlocked_ hands?

Since she would have a better bet at coming home, I decided that I wouldn't begrudge her this, then, no matter how much I despised that image. But would Katniss ever truly be back? For the Games changed you, that was a fact. It changed you from someone who had a hard time not to flinch while watching a killing scene to someone who would throw a knife at the remaining tribute standing in a desperate attempt to come home. It changed you from someone, who had a real proper family, to an alcoholic, drowning in the protection of swirling liquid.

The Games changed anyone who was in it. That was the essence of it. And I thought of Katniss, my Catnip, who was all but hostile and indifferent but _blew kisses_ and had her hands _tightly interlocked_ with baker boy's.

Katniss would come home, she would be back.

But, would _my_ Catnip ever be back?

**A/N : Sorry again for the late update. I was having exams for some time-) Anyway, hope y'all like it and do tell me what you think!**

_._


	6. Chapter 6 - Impasse

**Disclaimer : I do not own the Hunger Games, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Chapter Six : Impasse**

Thursday, One day after the opening ceremony

It wouldn't seem any different to any other person, but I knew what it was exactly. The light, soft, barely audible scampering of a squirrel on the tree trunk. It may be silent, but I was a hunter.

Treading the ground in the exact quiet manner, I strung the arrow onto my bow, and took aim.

"_Don't let them starve!" she cried out, clinging to my hand, her face one of despair._

"_I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I - "_

Distracted and disorientated, I let go without thinking. The arrow, previously aimed at piercing the right eye of a squirrel, now flew harmlessly past the trees, with the squirrel scampering off with the rustle of the leaves.

_Oh, shoot._

I flung my bow to the ground in frustration, glaring daggers at the very spot the squirrel was, five seconds ago. Usually, I would not make a big deal out of this, even _shrugged_ it off – for handling a bow and arrow weren't exactly my expertise. But, what happened just now – it was a living _nightmare_.

Except that nightmares were all but _existent_ here, I thought bitterly. I recalled the countless times when I woke up, drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding wildly against my chest, like it would burst any moment. I remembered the numerous times when the images of my father being blown to bits seemed too real in my mind, or that one morning I woke up and found nothing but my brothers starved to death.

Or, how, yesterday, my mind wouldn't seem to shut down on that scene where the Peacekeepers slammed the door right in my face at the Justice Building.

Strange, how that same scene seemed to rule over my every waking moment. Like how whenever I did something related to Katniss, it would flash over my mind. Like how I hunted just now, the one memory I had of Katniss, that final moments of separation would appear out of nowhere, as if mocking me about my attempts to hold on to Katniss.

Like how those _tightly interlocked_ hands seemed to bear a strong significance in mocking me, like how it mocked the foolish Capitol crowd of their shallowness., like how it mocked me that no matter how I tried to hold on to _my_ Catnip, she would be lost, taken from me.

_So if Katniss won the Games, Peeta would take her away just like those tightly interlock-_ Stop now, I told myself harshly. Just _stop_.

I could do with a distraction, I decided. Gathering game for both my family and Katniss'. Though I would have to stay clear of the bow, I thought grimly.

…

All day long I hunted in the woods, bringing down whatever game I was able to, forcing myself to focus on _just_ hunting alone and nothing else. As a result, by noon, I had a huge bag of greens, more herbs, fish, strawberries and five rabbits – from the snares, not the bow.

I found another new patch of wild strawberries – just up north a bit from the previous patch. It was covered with a thick thicket of bushes, but I managed to get in by hacking a bit of the bushes away and squeezing through. It was worth the effort – the mayor just _loved_ strawberries and couldn't seem to get enough of them.

Satisfied, I gathered everything and went to the Hob, my usual trading place. As I traded I noticed Ripper, who sold alcohol and was one of the resourceful people who managed to find a way to earn a living after being injured and unable to work in the mines anymore. Cray, the Head Peacekeeper, slapped down coins on the table and walked away, arms full of bottles. I smirked a little. As far as legislation went, District 12 had a bit on the brighter side. I couldn't recall any other districts with heads that frequent the one illegal place of the district, let alone buying my fresh game from the one illegal activity – hunting in the woods.

Even the mayor bought my strawberries. I was starting to think that maybe district 12 wasn't that bad after all, seeing that if I had been in other districts, I wouldn't be able to make it far with hunting. But then I thought that reapings, the Hunger Games and starvation existed as well, and how my father was killed in the explosion and my mother scrubbing her hands sore on the washboard, I scowled instinctively.

Being thankful didn't help, did it? For I was thankful, but look at what happened. Katniss at the mercy of the Games. My father blown to bits in the explosion, leaving me and my siblings fatherless. My mother, widowed, only living through the day in hardship. Rory, now twelve, subjected to six more reapings and the fear of being reaped. Vick, just eight, but had witnessed much more pain and suffering than an eight year old should. And Posy, my little sister, who I wanted nothing more than to remain her innocence, would one day open her eyes and see that everything around her was just pain, pain, suffering, and nothing more.

Being thankful didn't help an inch here. Life here was an impasse, where no progress or advancement could be made. So much for fantasizing Snow dead. So much for dreaming about an uprising. So much for me wanting nothing more than a world, free of all this suffering, just like before the Dark Days. An _impasse._

I gritted my teeth, and as usual I thought of Katniss, how she would always listen to me rant about how unfair everything was, and now she wasn't here but right at the heart of the Capitol. Day one training for her – I could only wish it was enough for her to learn more on survival, and fighting. Swing a mace, build a fire – whatever it took, I don't mind. There's only one thing I want from you, Catnip.

Please just come home to me, being yourself. Please.

…..

Friday, two days after the opening ceremony

The next few days fell into routine. It went on like a list in my mind : Wake up from nightmares, hunt, trade, check on the Everdeens, think about Katniss. It was like water dripping from a leaked faucet_. Drip, drip, drip_. The more it seemed about Katniss, it was like every single thought I had came back to her_. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. Drip, drip, drip._

Today would be the second day of training for Katniss. I could probably get some scope from the television instead of wondering what actually went on, so, grudgingly, I turned on the television.

And immediately wished I didn't.

For the two commentators, the very same ones who hosted the opening ceremony, filled the screen at once, their annoying shrill Capitol voice ringing continuously in my ears. The male commentator, who had purple hair during the opening ceremony, now had the exact shade of blood-red as the female commentator. Honestly, do we need anymore reminders of the gory details that was to happen in a mere few days? What's with the Capitol and their _sick _trends?

And was it just a day, a single day had passed and one person in the Capitol changed their hair colour? When people in the districts were starving, barely making past the day? This was just so- _sickening_.

They kept going on about the excitement to come, their delight at anticipating the best ever Games_. Excitement. Delight_. I didn't know till now that I hated these two words that much.

The screen then cut to the Capitol, and their lavish lifestyle. Banquets after banquets were shown, lavishness not missed in its grand array of food, and liquor. And people at the banquet were either throwing up from the spell of the wine, or still in their sane mind to be able to bet over which tribute would win the Games.

Though, to me, anyone betting over which tribute would win for the _Hunger Games_ was far from their right mind.

Beasts. They were all _beasts._ I thought again of the children in the districts turning to bones here, adults working their life out in the mines, desperately trying to get food on the table, and, yet, the Capitol and their shallow minds were eating till their bellies were full and _throwing up_ like it was nothing. I could literally _see_ red at this, for all I could see in front of my eyes was a thick cloud of red, only waiting for time to explode.

Irritated, and deciding that they wouldn't risk showing anything about the training sessions, I turned off the television, though it was more like _wrenching_ the button off.

I threw on my hunting jacket and boots, and stormed off for the second time today to the woods, only to be stopped by the electrical buzz of the fence. Electricity buzzed back at me, as if mocking me, "impasse, Gale. All you could do was to reach an _impasse_,"

….

Like usual, I tucked Posy in to bed. "Stay with me, Gale," she mumbled, her face once again radiating with childhood innocence.

"Always, Posy," I whispered, ruffling her ebony hair.

She giggled. "You could always keep me safe," she said, yawning.

I smiled at her, though inside I was on the verge of breaking. How much I wanted to tell my little sister that though I held her tight and comforted her whenever she dreamed of aliens chasing her, I was far from protecting anyone, far from keeping anyone safe. That I would never be able to protect her from the horrors of the Games, or the reapings, or the constant fear that sometimes death from starvation seemed the only way out.

That there were far more worse monsters that would haunt her than aliens, and that these monsters were living, breathing _humans _that made aliens and dinosaurs looked relatively harmless.

How could I, when all I ever managed was only reaching an impasse?

**A/N : Training scores up next chapter! Thanks for the reviews, and do tell me what you think for this chapter as well!:)**


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